


Where Is My Star, Who Took the Dream Away?

by Aspera



Series: The Heart Is A Muscle [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, POV Rhysand (ACoTaR), Past Rape/Non-con, Under the Mountain (ACoTaR), there's nothing explicit i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 13:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspera/pseuds/Aspera
Summary: After yet another Calanmai under the mountain, Rhys wishes for anything that will help him stay sane.





	Where Is My Star, Who Took the Dream Away?

Rhys collapsed onto his bed with a sob. It was an hour to two before dawn on Calanmai, not that they could celebrate Under the Mountain, and Amarantha had been particularly… _demanding_. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this. He couldn’t. He _couldn’t_.

                He rolled onto his stomach, so utterly exhausted that it was a struggle to keep the glamour that concealed his true form hidden. Another obligation that was completely necessary for his people’s safety. One that Rhys was glad to keep, but Mother save him, it was just so _hard_. Rhys buried his head under the pile of silk pillows. He felt like screaming but didn’t dare – Amarantha had spies posted everywhere. Rhys couldn’t risk letting the mask slip. Not now.

                Amarantha had tried to take everything from him – and in many ways she had succeeded. He was completely cut off from his family, his people. Amarantha allowed him to visit the Court of Nightmares every now and again, but that was no respite. Rhys had no way of sending word to Amren or Mor. Gods, he just wanted to know that they were alright.

                The weight of his loneliness pressed on him, and tendrils of darkness unfurled throughout the room. There was a crash as Rhys began to lose hold on his powers. Some precious vase smashed on the floor. He needed to get out of here before someone came to investigate, and oh, they would.

                Nothing was ever a secret Under the Mountain, and certainly not when it concerned Amarantha’s Whore.

                Rhys stumbled out of bed, and burst out of the door, gathering the darkness around him. He couldn’t risk being seen when he was this emotional. It would get back to Amarantha. He couldn’t handle any more of her scrutiny. Not tonight.

                The hallways were still empty, thank the Cauldron. Most knew better than to show their faces before Amarantha stirred. She didn’t have the patience for noise while she was catching up on her rest, and with all the work he’d done to distract her meant that –

                No. Rhys shook his head and leaned against a stone archway. He couldn’t think about that know. He needed – gods, all he wanted was to be back in his townhouse in Velaris, sitting on his uncomfortable patio furniture with an aged scotch and his family around him, the breeze ruffling their hair.

                The thought hit him like a blow.

                Rhys saw their faces in his mind, heard their panicked voices as he reached out in those last desperate moments before Amarantha stole his magic from him, and he couldn’t breathe. He pushed off from the archway and tore down the hall, letting his hold on the darkness that encircled him go. Rhys didn’t care who saw him now – he couldn’t. He just – he needed to get out.

                _Thank the Mother_ , Rhys thought when his energy ran out and a fragrant wind played with his hair. He dropped to his knees, not caring that the immaculate clothes he’d been wearing would be ruined. He’d burn them later. One less thing for Amarantha’s cronies to find.

                Something dark and misshapen crawled past his vision, but it was surely just his own fears manifesting physically. He’d done it before. Hadn’t he? Even when he was awake? He couldn’t do this – he couldn’t be here, not underground, not where she was always there –

                _Stop. This isn’t helping_ , said a voice. It was terribly familiar, female and so very comforting.

                As he breathed the cool air in, the vise around Rhys’ throat loosened. They were _safe_. He’d kept them safe, even if it was the last thing that he’d done right in his whole miserable life.

                The panic subsided, and Rhys slowly recognized his surroundings. He gave a bitter laugh as he came to the realization.

                He was at the end of the tunnel to the gods-damned Spring Court.

                The Spring Court, where that smug bastard Tamlin was wasting the 49 years of freedom he’d won through his family’s loyalty to Hybern because he couldn’t be arsed to free them all.

                Tamlin was spineless, just like his brothers. Rhys wasn’t sorry that he’d killed them all those years ago. It was what they’d deserved, for allying with Hybern in the war. With getting them imprisoned under this Cauldron-cursed Mountain with a homicidal psychopath.

                Rhys cursed under his breath, and the fragrant spring breeze turned to ash and rot on his tongue.

                He got to his feet slowly, every joint aching from his exertions. The tunnel was just ahead and Rhys forced himself to go inside and put a glamour over his muddy clothes, lest anyone think something was amiss and report it back to Amarantha. She hadn’t given him leave to go outside, not for another week. She wanted to make sure that he had no time at all to celebrate his court’s holidays, not even hundreds of miles away. Not even the southron proxy of Calanmai. Rhys squared his shoulders and plodded on, trying not to let his exhaustion show.       

                At the mouth of the tunnel, Rhys paused to look back at the rapidly lightening night sky. It had been a deep blue-black when he came to on Spring Court territory but was now a soft shade of violet. Only a few of the brightest stars remained, stubbornly resisting the dawn. Rhys’ stone heart ached for home.

                _Please,_ he thought, nearly buckling under the hopelessness that had settled over his shoulders like a shroud. _Please, I can’t do this anymore. If there are any merciful gods out there at all, please, just show me something good left in this world. I need something to hold onto. I can’t do this on my own anymore._

                Rhys stared at the sky until even the brightest stars winked out.

                The sun peeked over the horizon, and he knew that he had tarried too long. Someone would have noted his absence by now, would have reported it back to Amarantha.

                Rhys slid his mask back into place and stalked through the tunnel into the Throne Room. He made sure that his glamour was in place – only Amarantha would be able to see through it. He was confident that he could sway her into thinking that he had been off hunting dissidents instead of wishing on the stars like a child. She’d believe him. She had to.

                It would be a long day.

                The longest of his miserable life.

                But he would do it, if it kept them safe. He would. He always would.

                “Ah, there you are, dearest,” Amarantha said. Her red hair was coiled around her head like a crown. Pilfered jewels sparkled under the light of the bone chandeliers on her head, at her throat and at her waist on a jeweled sword belt. Winter, Dawn and Day. Jurian’s eye swiveled on her finger to face him. Rhys forced his revulsion down, and the pity that he felt for his friend as well. He had to appear every bit the haughty High Lord of Night that they all expected.

                Rhys forced himself to smile briefly, then let a bored look settle over him. Anything to replace his current exhaustion. Amarantha’s eyes raked over him, taking in his disheveled clothing and the mud stains on his knees. She quirked an eyebrow. _We’ll have words later, dearest._ Her voice in his head was agony, every single time. Amarantha had quickly taken to being daemati, and it was only Rhys’ own prowess that prevented him from dissolving into a puddle of misery and pain. He gave her a tight nod in return, and she smiled again.

                It didn’t take long for Amarantha’s attention to be turned elsewhere. Rhys settled into the shadows behind her throne, leaning against a column of hewn stone. The Attor limped forwards, dripping ichor from shredded wings. “My lady,” it said, bowing low. His claws were stained red.

                Amarantha’s nose wrinkled. “I didn’t think that it was possible for something to disgust me more than you, Attor. Have you at least succeeded in your quest?”

                The Attor coughed wetly; Rhys suspected he must have a punctured lung, at least with the slashes across his chest. “No, my lady, I was most unfortunate. That beast, he – ”

                “Don’t speak of the Lord of Spring in that manner, scum,” Amarantha said, almost lazily. She looked down at her hand, the one with the High Lord of Dawn’s old signet ring on it. She flapped the other at the Attor dismissively. Rhys saw Jurian’s eye flash briefly; it was still trained on his place in the shadows. “Get him out of my sight. He’s bleeding all over my freshly cleaned floors. We can’t have him burning the rushes like he did last time Tamlin sent him limping back to me.”

                _Cauldron boil me,_ Rhys thought. _The Attor was in Spring last night._

“I’ll do it, my lady,” Rhys heard himself say. “I’ll be sure to get the truth out of him.”

                Amarantha laughed, and the assembled courtiers tittered politely in response. It would have been easier had her laugh sounded like nails on slate or glass breaking or something deserving of the cruelty that she delivered to him night after night, but she had a beautiful voice to match her beautiful face. “Oh, do, dearest. I’m sure you’ll tell me if you find out anything interesting.”

                Rhys bowed slightly. “Of course, my lady.” He summoned a form of corporeal darkness and bound the Attor, who screamed in pain. Rhys made sure to let the Attor’s wings drag over the flagstones as he carried him down into the dungeons.

~*~

                Hours later, it was becoming clear to Rhys that the Attor hadn’t seen him collapse outside the tunnel from under the mountain to the Spring Court. It was becoming even clearer that the Attor hadn’t even attempted to watch Tamlin last night.

                He’d been attacked by something far more ancient. Rhys’ thoughts had immediately flown to the creature hiding in the libraries of Velaris, but a cursory look through the Attor’s mind showed that the beast had never even heard of the City of Starlight. Rhys would have kissed him had he not been dripping ichor.

                “What prevented you from killing the Weaver, maggot?” Rhys said aloud, for the benefit of the guards standing outside the cell. They were some form of lowlander Fae native to the Autumn Court. No doubt they were eager to escape the machinations of Beron’s many ambitious sons. Rhys sent another spear through the Attor’s mind trying to pierce the wall of his thoughts.

                Each time, his spear ricocheted off. There was something protecting the Attor’s mind. Rhys touched it gently this time and was again blasted out.

                “Let’s have you go against the Weaver, boy, and see how you fare,” the Attor said thickly. His nose had started bleeding some time after the third hour of interrogation. Rhys was fairly certain he was unlikely to die, so he hadn’t even bothered tending to any of his injuries. Amarantha would be suspicious if Rhys was too gentle with him anyway.

                Rhys scoffed. “Not bloody likely. I’m too valuable to the cause.”

                He sent a spear of pain through the Attor, simply because he could and because the guards were starting to whisper back and forth between themselves. The Attor howled, and the iron bars of his cell shook with the sound.

                Rhys scrubbed a hand across his face, then turned on his heel. “I’m finished,” he said simply as he strode across the wet stone. “Tell her ladyship that I’ll wait for her in my chambers. I’m going to take a bath.”

                Once out of sight of the guards, Rhys winnowed to his chambers. “Nuala,” he called softly. “Could you draw me a bath please? And have Cerridwen build the hottest fire possible in this miserable little grate.” He stripped off his doublet, not even waiting for his orders to be heard. The half-wraith twins were hardly visible, but he trusted that they would do his bidding without delay.

                The tub was full and steaming when he entered the chamber, and a blur of the light in the corner of his eye told him that the twins had just left. Rhys stripped off the rest of his clothing and left it in a pile on the floor. He would throw it in the flames later, but he couldn’t think of it now. He was covered in grime and his body ached from the lack of sleep and his vast exertions.

                Rhys slipped into the water, and almost groaned in relief. He lay back against the tub, the muscles in his back and his aching wings finally relaxing. He allowed his head to fall back and was asleep in seconds.

                The water was cold by the time he woke to sharp rapping on the door and Nuala’s panicked voice in his ear. “My lord! Rhys! Wake up! She’s here! We can’t stall her any longer!”

                Rhys cursed, coming alert far too slowly for his liking. He checked the floor for his soiled clothes. Gone. Thank the Mother for reliable house servants.

                “Thank you, Nuala. That will be all.”

                Rhys heard her move away, probably to open the door to a thoroughly irate Amarantha. He washed himself quickly in the cold water, already dreading what was sure to happen when he emerged from the bath.

                He should be terrified. Amarantha was not patient and she was not used to being denied for anything, even sleep.

                And yet, something tugged at the edge of Rhys’ consciousness. Something small and hopeful.

                As insubstantial as a dream, but the strongest image he had ever seen.

                A pair of human hands painting a night’s sky on a dark wooden dresser. Hands unbloodied and youthful. A young human girl, untouched by the madness that had descended over Prythian.

                _Thank you_ , Rhys thought. He dried himself with a towel and squared his shoulders as he set off to face the Lady Under the Mountain, his lover and his captor, Amarantha.

**Author's Note:**

> Title credit: There's A Star For Everyone - Aretha Franklin


End file.
